


Beacons Flicker

by Ozpin_Lover_MP



Series: Beacons of Vale [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozpin_Lover_MP/pseuds/Ozpin_Lover_MP
Summary: Whilst out on a mission, Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck gets captured by Salem. She wants to know everything - who he is - where he comes from - how did he find her - but Bartholomew refuses to say anything. Sadly Salem then lets Tyrian loose on Bartholomew, resulting in a lot of torture...This fanfic focuses more on Bartholomew's recovery, and how he learns to accept what happened. Lots of whump, fluff, and Ozpin being kind ahead!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Few! This has taken me forever to write! Thank you so much for everyone on the Discord server who has helped me write this (you know who you are), and thank you to Jute for beta-ing the first part! 
> 
> Major TW for implied/mentioned rape.

…

Bartholomew Oobleck tried to shift and had to bite his tongue so as not to cry out in pain. His eyes flew open.  

His shoulder. That  _ really _ hurt. What the hell? 

He turned his head to look towards the source of his pain, not that he could see it much in the dark. There did not seem to be any blood… but it did not feel cut. It just ached like hell. 

He tried to shift it again and took a sharp intake of breath. Right. Staying as still as possible seemed to be his best option then. Definitely. 

Taking a deeper breath - the air smelt really musty- Bartholomew took stock of his surroundings. Where was he? How did he get here? And why the hell was he tied up to some sort of pillar? 

Perhaps the room was some sort of dungeon? It was certainly was large, the ceiling too far away and too dark to see. There seemed to be some windows, far away to the right. They let in a very faint amount of light, suggesting that it was nighttime. Or maybe it was just a very cloudy day. Or maybe they were in the shadow of a hill or something. Who could tell? 

The wall opposite looked damp and mouldy and seemed to be made of gigantic slabs. If he’d have to guess, Bartholomew would have thought it was around six thousand years old. The architectural style seemed to fit anyway. 

The pillar he was lashed to felt cold through his thin shirt. It was one of many that stood away from the walls. He pulled a little, to see how he was being held, but immediately hissed in pain is his shoulder flared up again. Right. His arms were tied around the back of the pillar with some sort of rope. Perhaps that’s why his shoulder hurt so much. 

Bartholomew tried to remember his first aid training. How could he identify the problem? 

Right, his arm, how did that feel? 

Like it was dead, he decided. Just hanging there, uselessly. 

Damn. That meant his shoulder was probably dislocated.

Biting his tongue, Bartholomew looked down at it again, and shifted slightly, wincing at the movement. There was no familiar green glow. Double damn. That meant he was out of aura. His shoulder wouldn’t be healing anytime soon. 

Why was he out of aura… ? 

The mission! Team CFVY! The scorpion faunus! All his memories came flooding back to him at once.  Glynda was swamped with paperwork, so he had taken her usual team, CFVY, to Crucible for a survey mission. It was supposed to be quite simple; count the number of Grimm they encountered per square kilometer. But then there had been that scorpion faunus… They had been attacked. The faunus had been leading a herd of Grimm against them. Bartholomew had stayed and fought to cause a distraction and allow team CFVY to escape.

And now he was here. Why was he here? He had never heard of any faunus working with Grimm… Of course maybe the faunus was with Salem? She was supposed to love Grimm, wasn’t she? But… he had been captured. Why hadn’t they killed him? 

He took another deep breath to calm his racing thoughts. He would surely find out soon enough. 

What mattered was that they hadn't killed him, and that he was in some sort of dungeon. 

In a building that he didn’t even know existed. Since when was there a six-thousand year old building in Crucible? If he was still in Crucible at all. 

The room was completely silent; no distant traffic noises, no shouts of kids. This building must at the very least be in the countryside. And Crucible had no large cities; so he was probably still in said continent. But Crucible was  _ large _ . It would take forever for a rescue party to find him. If a rescue party was even sent out. No, Ozpin would send a rescue party; he always did if a hunter was in trouble, and not declared dead. 

But what if team CFVY declared him dead? They had no way of knowing that the faunus had captured him instead of killing him. Bartholomew felt his breath hitch. What if his friends all thought that he was dead? 

No. It was going to be alright. Team CFVY couldn’t have seen him die, since he was obviously alive, so they would say that he wasn’t definitely dead. And Ozpin was clever; he would know that something fishy was going on with the Grimm. Grimm didn’t listen to be people. Yes, Ozpin would save him. Maybe. There was still the problem that this building could be anywhere in Remnant. 

Perhaps Bartholomew could escape on his own? That should be simple enough. First he’d need to get out of the ropes… 

At least his legs were not tied up. 

Suddenly, there was  _ clank  _ from the end of the room. Bartholomew heard two sets of footsteps approaching. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” an elegant voice asked. 

Bartholomew did not reply. 

The two people stepped into the dim glow that barely passed as light. 

Bartholomew gasped. 

The one on the right had pearly white skin and hair, and red eyes. She held herself with an air of vanity, as if she was above everyone else in the room. And the way she walked; she reminded Bartholomew of the ancient queens of Mistral that he was often reading about.  He immediately knew who she was. 

“Salem,” Bartholomew hissed. Damn. For once in his life he really wished he was wrong. 

Salem looked taken aback for a moment. Then she smiled. “Oh, a huntsman. This should be interesting. Tyrian, go get the knives,” 

Knives? That wasn’t good. Bartholomew felt the fear rise up inside him, but he quelled it as best he could. He would not panic. 

“Who are you? Who do you work for?” Salem asked. 

Bartholomew didn’t reply. 

“Do you work for Ozpin? Is that how you know me?” 

Bartholomew prayed that his face gave nothing away. He knew it would be worse for him if he revealed that Ozpin was one of his closest friends. 

“Cat got your tongue? I should tell you that if you don’t speak up I’ll give Tyrian free reign to do as he pleases for a few hours. And trust me when I say - you don’t want that,” 

Bartholomew swallowed. This was bad, extremely bad. He knew… He had heard about things Salem had done in the past. He knew… he knew they were going to torture him. 

His legs started to shake. He looked away from Salem's burning red eyes. And he made up his mind. He would not reveal  _ anything _ . Not even his name. Who knew what she would do with even the tiniest bit of information. 

Tyrian returned to the light, knife in hand. 

“Have your fun,” Salem instructed, and left. 

Tyrian giggled. “It’s been a while since I got to test my skills against a hunter,” he told Bartholomew, walking up to him. He held the blade in front of Bartholomew’s face. “I wonder how long you’ll last?” 

First, Tyrian cut off Bartholomew’s tie. That was okay, he had others at Beacon. It didn’t stop the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, however. The knife had been incredibly close to his neck. 

“Last chance,” Tyrian taunted. 

Bartholomew still didn’t say anything. 

Tyrian grinned, and in one quick slashing motion, slit open Bartholomew’s shirt. 

Bartholomew gasped, and looked down in shock. His shirt hung limply, exposing his bare chest that was now dripping with a thin line of blood. 

“Not used to seeing your own blood?” Tyrian asked, resting the tip of the knife on Bartholomew’s chest, “Well, you’ll get used to it soon,” a fanatic smile tugged at Tyrian’s lips. He pushed the tip of the knife into Bartholomew’s right bicep, just a little way. It hurt. It hurt like hell. Bartholomew bit his lip.

Tyrian dragged the knife downwards. And then slashed at his chest again and again, grinning. 

He paused for a second, and moved back to gain a little momentum. 

Oh damn it! Bartholomew cried out in pain, as the knife slashed him a little deeper, going all the way across from his shoulder to his midsection. 

…

“Oh, I do so love it when they’re stubborn,” Tyrian said about half an hour later, wiping the bloody knife along the side of Bartholomew’s ripped shirt. “It makes my job so much more fun. Now, unfortunately I have to go and attend to other matters now, but I’ll be sure to see you later,” 

Tyrian left. 

Blinking away tears, Bartholomew tried to assess the damage. One dislocated shoulder, that hurt like death every time he moved. Too many slashes to count across his chest. More tears started to form. This was going to leave him with scars. Physical scars. Of course, there was nothing wrong with scars, it was just unusual. Aura protected hunters from the worst of the wounds, and even healed any they sustained. But he was completely out of Aura. And he couldn’t recharge without sleep. 

Bartholomew tried to lean back against the pillar, but immediately a cry of pain escaped his throat. Damn his shoulder. Trying to lean back made it worse. That meant that he was going to have to stand. How was he going to sleep standing up? 

Thus started his fitful night. Well, Bartholomew was calling it night. He couldn’t actually tell. Who knew how long he had been unconscious for earlier? 

Everytime he started to drift off to sleep, he would slump, and the pain in his shoulder would wake him right up. It was bad enough trying to ignore the burning along his chest. 

Bartholomew fearfully looked down. How much blood did he need to lose to pass out? Probably a lot more than that. Although the wounds on his chest were large, they weren’t particularly deep. At least, Bartholomew hoped they weren’t. It was difficult to tell. 

Eventually, he just closed his eyes but tried to stay awake. It was the only way he was going to get any rest. In his mind’s eye he tried to imagine a peaceful landscape. Some green fields, Beacon academy… He felt his breath hitch momentarily. What if he never saw Beacon again? No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. It was better just to imagine the green fields… They more peaceful than the dungeon anyway. 

...

What felt like days later, but was probably only a few hours, Tyrian returned. 

“Her majesty says I can’t torture you more yet,” Tyrian grumbled. “So we’ll have to wait a bit. Also, she ordered me to take you to the bathroom and to feed you,” 

Well, that was a relief, Bartholomew decided. At least he would have access to basic facilities. 

Well, it was until Tyrian roughly yanked on the ropes, jogging his dislocated arm. 

Bartholomew cried out in surprise, but mostly pain. His arm throbbed and ached, screaming at him that something was wrong. Almost out of instinct, he tried to activate his aura. It felt like a punch to the stomach. Of course; he had no aura. He was too exhausted. 

Tyrian giggled. “Hurt yourself did you?” He then shoved Bartholomew towards the back of the room. 

Bartholomew stumbled along. There was a small hole in the corner, that a foul stench was coming from, and a tiny tap attached to the wall. 

“No plumbing here,” Tyrian leered. 

Bartholomew didn’t move. 

“Well, go on then, I haven’t got all day,”

“What?” Bartholomew mumbled. 

“And he finally talks!” Tyrian clapped his hands. “Just hurry up and use the damn toilet, I haven’t got all day,”

“Aren’t you going to give me some privacy?” Bartholomew asked quietly.  

“Without tying you up? Not a chance,” Tyrian replied. 

Oh. Then he wouldn’t go, Bartholomew decided. He would not be humiliated like that. He would just have to escape soon. 

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Tyrian taunted.

Bartholomew still didn’t move. 

“Oh, well, time’s up,” Tyrian grabbed Bartholomew by his bad shoulder and pulled in back towards the pillar. 

Bartholomew hissed in pain. His arm was now at a very odd angle. His shoulder was hanging below the socket. Just looking at it made him feel faint and dizzy. 

Tyrian lead him to where there was a bowl of water on the floor. There was a piece of soggy bread in the middle. 

Well, it certainly wasn’t a delicacy, but Bartholomew wasn’t going to pass up the chance to eat food and drink water. Who knew when his next chance would be? And his head was spinning enough as it was. 

He quickly sat down and gobbled the food before Tyrian could take it away. 

Once he was done, Tyrian kicked the bowl over. 

“Now stand up,” Tyrian instructed. 

Bartholomew didn’t move for a second. What if he stayed on the floor? It would be easier to sleep and recover his aura. Maybe Tyrian would just tie him to the pillar as he was? 

That train of thought was brought to halt when Tyrian hauled him up by his bad arm. Bartholomew yelled in pain, and felt tears run down his face. It was like Tyrian was trying to tear his arm off. 

Tyrian ignored his cries, and roughly shoved him against the pillar, pulling his arms behind his back and tying them up again. 

Bartholomew let out a shaky breath, trying to control the pain. And not faint. He really didn’t want to faint. It felt like the room was spinning though. 

Tyrian left, laughing maniacally at something or other. 

Bartholomew felt more tears run down his cheeks. Damn, this situation was so terrible. Absolutely terrible. He needed to escape,  _ he had to.  _ How long could he survive like this? Not long without sleep. But maybe he would fall asleep eventually and just injure his arm further. Hopefully it would be repairable with some aura and proper medical treatment. But what if it wasn’t? What if he lost the use of his arm? He might have to retire as a hunter. At least he could still teach. 

But what if he died? Oh gosh, he might die here! All alone! He tried to calm himself down. It would be alright. Dying wouldn’t be the end of the world. Well it would for him, but not for everyone else. Living here for the rest of his life was a much worse prospect. It seemed his captors didn’t have any intention of killing him. What if they made him live down here for years? Constantly tortured? 

No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. It had only been a day. A rescue team might be on their way right now. 

By this time tomorrow, he could be on an airship, going back to Beacon. 

...

“Ready to tell us who you are?” Tyrian asked, wondering up to Bartholomew. 

Bartholomew kept his mouth shut. One day of torture was not enough to make him crack. No way. He was stronger than that. 

Tyrian grinned. “Still stubborn are we? Oh well, that just makes this more fun,”

Tyrian dragged the knife across Bartholomew’s chest. Bartholomew hissed as it crossed yesterday’s wounds. His lips trembled. He didn’t dare look down. 

“Uncomfortable?” Tyrian taunted, “Good.” 

He then lifted the knife to Bartholomew’s good arm and slashed his shoulder. 

Bartholomew’s breath caught in his throat. He would not scream. He would not scream. He would not scream. He was not going to give Tyrian that satisfaction. More tears may be pooling in his eyes, but he would not scream. 

Tyrian slashed at his chest again. 

Bartholomew screamed. 

Tears ran down his face. It hurt. It hurt so much. His whole chest was agony. 

Tyrian didn’t stop. 

Bartholomew couldn’t help it. He screamed and screamed as Tyrian repeated hit his chest over and over with the sharp edge of the knife. It was creating miniature stab wounds and lacerations everywhere. There was blood all over the place. Every time the knife touched his skin, it punctured already open wounds. And it hurt! It hurt so much! It was like his whole chest was on fire! He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to go home! 

Tyrian pauses for a moment. 

Bartholomew sobbed, sagging, and leaning his weight on his better arm. “Please,” whimpered, “Please, stop,”. Tears streamed down his face, as he gasped for air. If he had been able to, he would have curled up, and hidden his face in his knees. But he couldn’t. He just stood there, openly sobbing. “Please stop,” he tried again. 

Tyrian merely grinned. “Ready to tell us what you know?” 

Bartholomew didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He couldn’t! He couldn’t tell them anything! 

“That’s what I thought.” Tyrian slid the knife over Bartholomew’s stomach. 

Bartholomew closed his eyes, trying not to watch. He couldn’t watch. It was too much. 

The knife travelled up the side of his stomach, just scraping the surface, until it touched the other wounds. 

Bartholomew hissed through his sobs. 

Tyrian went back to slashing his chest.

...

Some time later, Tyrian finally stopped. 

Bartholomew concentrated on breathing. Just breath, he told himself. Just breath. Don’t worry about the tears, don’t worry about shaking. Just breath. Breathing was important. 

Suddenly the bonds holding his arms in place went slack. 

Bartholomew cried out again as his dislocated arm shifted. 

“Come on,” Tyrian huffed, “her majesty ordered me to take you to the bathroom and feed you once I was done,” 

Shakily, Bartholomew stepped forward. His chest ached so much. And his arm. His arm was throbbing. It was difficult to breath. But that was probably just from his panic. He was so scared. He had to fight the urge to curl up and sob. He just wanted to go home. To curl up in his bed and never see Tyrian or Salem again. He missed his bed. He missed Beacon. He missed his friends. 

More tears slid down his face. He just wanted to go home! 

He followed Tyrian to the back of the room. Damn it. Same as before. Well, he had to use the toilet now. 

Bartholomew did his best to ignore Tyrian’s wretched eyes bearing into him. 

Then he washed his hands under the small tap and went back to the other end of the room where a bowl of water and soggy bread was waiting. 

Honestly, Bartholomew wasn’t hungry. He was in too much pain. And the panic made his stomach twist in knots and bile rise in his throat. But he knew he had to eat. He needed to keep his strength up as much as possible. 

Once he was done he stood upright by himself, if only to protect his injured arm. He was shaking uncontrollably, mostly from exhaustion. 

It was clever, he realised, as Tyrian tied him up again. Any aura he regained from his fitful sleep would be immediately used up to stop him from collapsing, meaning that his wounds would not heal. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought. These people were experienced when it came to extracting information. Well he wouldn’t give in.  _ He mustn’t _ . If he told them anything, anything, the could use it against them. Even small things, like the fact he was a history teacher at Beacon, could lead to others getting hurt. What if they sent an imposter to capture some of his students? Or his friends? He would never forgive himself. He had no choice. He had to remain silent. 

…

 

The next time Tyrian came back, he was holding what looked like some sort of rope. Or a wip. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I stole this from a hunter,” Tyrian told him, “I’ve been wanting to try it out,” 

Bartholomew gulped. What sort of hellish pain was he going to be in today?

To his surprise, Tyrian untied him. Was he going to be fed beforehand? 

“Remove your shirt,” Tyrian instructed. 

Bartholomew didn’t move. His shirt was thin, and completely ripped open and covered in blood at the front, but it was the one small protection he had. 

“Did you not hear me?” Tyrian asked, moving closer and putting a knife to Bartholomew’s throat. 

Bartholomew relented and started to peel his shirt away from his front, hissing as many cuts started bleeding again. Then he had to remove the sleeves. He tried to keep his breathing even as slipped it over his dislocated arm. It didn’t work. He yelled anyway. 

Tyrian took the shirt and threw it on the floor. 

Then he roughly turned Bartholomew around, ignoring his cries at jostling his shoulder, and tied him back to the pillar. 

Oh. Okay. Now he was facing the pillar. 

Bartholomew steadied himself. He didn’t want his aching chest to touch it. 

Suddenly there was a ‘Crack!’ and Bartholomew felt pain flare across his back. Naturally. He should have expected this. It’s wasn’t like Tyrian was going to stick to just one from of torture. 

“Oh, I like this weapon,” he heard Tyrian say. “It has tiny spikes on the end see, perfect for catching on your skin,” 

There was another ‘Crack!’ and Bartholomew felt another stroke. It actually took a few seconds for the pain to hit, it when it did… Bartholomew sucked breath in through gritted teeth, as his eyes watered. This wasn’t going to be fun. 

… 

When Tyrian finally stopped, Bartholomew thought that he might collapse. He was trembling uncontrollably again, and his breathing was short and ragged. Everything hurt! He barely even registered Tyrian untying him and leading him back to the back of the room. 

Bartholomew used the ‘toilet’ as quickly as he could, ignoring Tyrian’s sadistic eyes. 

And then he was eating the tiny amount of bread that they give him and gulping down the water before Tyrian tied him up again. 

Tyrian left with a cackle of “see you tomorrow!” 

Bartholomew sobbed. Everything still hurt, and he was so exhausted. And hungry. A single piece of bread a day wasn’t really enough. 

His whole body shook, increasing the agony in his arm. 

He shifted and leant his weight in his good arm, trying to rest a bit. Bartholomew cried himself to sleep. He friends would rescue him, he told himself. Soon. 

…

Someone knocked on Ozpin’s door. 

“Come in,” he hummed, looking up from his desk. 

Glynda walked in. 

“Hot chocolate?” he offered. 

“Team CFVY has returned,” Glynda said, completely ignoring his question. Of course, Glynda always got straight to the point. 

“Could you send Barty up to talk to me then? I want to see their report in full detail.” Ozpin poured himself a cup of Cocoa, and walking over to Glynda. 

“That’s the thing, Doctor Oobleck isn’t with them,” Glynda stated, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. Despite that, Ozpin could tell she was worried. As much as Glynda tried to hide it, they all knew she cared deeply for her colleagues. 

Ozpin frowned. “What happened?” 

“Apparently they were attacked by a faunus leading a pack of Grimm,”

“Leading a pack of Grimm?” 

Glynda nodded. “That is what team CFVY said,” 

“Then I must go at once. Could you call Qrow whilst I organise an airship?” Ozpin asked, setting his mug down and walking towards the elevator. 

“Certainly,” Glynda replied, joining him, “But what good will that do?” 

“That faunus was undoubtedly working for Salem. They have probably captured Doctor Oobleck, and we must rescue him as soon as possible,”  Ozpin explained, as the elevator doors closed. 

“Don’t get me wrong - I hope he’s alright - but won’t they have killed him?” Glynda asked softly. 

“If Salem’s got him then I highly doubt he’s  _ alright _ . But I also doubt they will have killed him. Salem will want to know exactly how they found them and how much he knows. What terrible luck - If I had known she was hiding in Crucible then I would never have sent a team there,” Ozpin sighed. 

“Well that’s not your fault - you don’t even know if they are Crucible. They could have taken him anywhere,” Glynda pointed out. 

“Let’s hope not. I know of an old castle in Crucible that could be a likely spot - Qrow and I will start our search there. If Qrow is willing to come of course,” Ozpin stated. 

“Whenever has Branwen not been up for a ridiculously dangerous adventure?” Glynda muttered. “What will you do if you meet Salem?” 

“Let’s just pray that I don’t,” Ozpin replied darkly. 

… 

“It’s surprising,” Tyrian said, twirling the knife about in his hand, “I thought that you would be stronger. Most hunters would have escaped by now,” 

Bartholomew closed his eyes, trying not to listen. 

“But I suppose there has to be a few weak ones,” Tyrian continued, “it makes my job more fun after all,” 

“I’m not weak,” Bartholomew mumbled. 

“Ooh, what was that?” Tyrian asked, using the tip of the knife to raise Bartholomew’s chin. 

“I said I’m not weak,” Bartholomew repeated more forcefully. It was stupid. It really was. Talking was only going to get him more hurt. And his throat ached from screaming so much anyway. There was no point. 

“A bit of fire,” Tyrian laughed, “I like it,” he dragged the knife down Bartholomew’s chest, just breaking the surface. 

Bartholomew winced, hissing. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a break if you can prove your strength,” Tyrian smirked, “but if you fail, then I’ll spend an extra hour down here,” 

Bartholomew said nothing. It was a terrible deal. And in any case, even if he did manage, there was no guarantee that Tyrian would actually give him a break. 

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Tyrian goaded.

“No- I- “ Bartholomew started. 

“Your other option is that I’ll spend an extra hour with you anyway,” Tyrian smirked. 

Bartholomew silently nodded. 

Tyrian smirked and untied him. Then he pushed Bartholomew towards the door. “This way,” he said, in his manically happy voice.

They walked into a dimly lit passage, and then into a tiny room with a chair and a fireplace. 

“Sit down,” Tyrian instructed. 

Bartholomew sat on the chair. 

Tyrian tied him back to it. 

“Now all you have to do... is not scream,” Tyrian said, walking over to the fireplace and poking it with the poker. 

Bartholomew swallowed. 

Tyrian left the poker in the fireplace for a few moments and then took it out. The end was red hot. He then swung it around and approached Bartholomew’s chest. 

Bartholomew couldn’t look away, as the hot poker got closer and closer to his distressed skin. And then… 

Bartholomew bit his lip as hard as he could, tears streaming down his face. He pressed himself back into the chair, trying to get away from the poker. 

The smell of burning flesh wafted up his nostrils. 

“Oh, very good,” Tyrian said, taking the poker away and putting it back in the fire. 

Bartholomew gasped for breath, at the same time as trying to breathe shallowly so as not to move his chest too much. 

“Of course this will cauterise the wounds, meaning that I’ll have to open them again later,” Tyrian mused, “But it’s all good fun,” 

He took the poker out of the fire again, 

And Bartholomew tried so hard. He really did. He bit his lip until it bled. But he couldn’t stand it.

It burnt. His chest already ached and stung from all of the cuts, but now it  _ burned _ . 

Tyrian pressed the poker against him again, and Bartholomew screamed. 

… 

Bartholomew came to. He was still in the chair, Tyrian leering over him. 

“Pathetic,” Tyrian said, “you passed out. I’m still going to play with you for another hour yet,” 

Bartholomew whimpered. He couldn’t help it. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t think. His arm was throbbing so badly he wouldn’t be surprised if it fell off. And his chest was screaming, scratches on top of scratches that were now burnt. He didn’t think that being in this much pain was possible. 

Tyrian huffed. “Here’s what’s going to happen, every time you fall unconscious I’ll pause, and then add that time onto the end,” he then gabbed to poker, and rubbed the burning end of it over Bartholomew’s stomach. 

Bartholomew screamed. 

…

Bartholomew thought it would be over for the day when Tyrian had tied him back up to his usual pillar. 

But only a few hours later Tyrian came in smiling. Bartholomew knew it was going to be bad. 

“Her Majesty has given me permission to… have a little fun,” Tyrian said, twirling the knife in his hands. 

_ Haven’t you already done that? _ Bartholomew wanted to say.  _ Don’t you realise I will never tell you anything, no matter what you do? _ But he said nothing. He didn’t have the nerve. 

Tyrian walked right up to him and put his face right next to Bartholomew’s. “I’m going to enjoy this,” 

Bartholomew flinched at the smell of his breath. 

Tyrian smiles and licked his lips. 

No, surely not. Bartholomew suddenly realised what Tyrian might be thinking. Surely Tyrian wasn’t about to do  _ that _ . No, he was just being paranoid. Surely. That was his worst fear… he had already been raped once in his life. He didn’t want it to happen again. 

Tyrian’s hands snaked down his back. Bartholomew whimpered. 

Tyrian leant forwards and kissed Bartholomew. Bartholomew wriggled, trying desperately to get away. Gross, gross, gross, gross! 

…

Once Tyrian left the room, Bartholomew  _ broke _ . 

He couldn’t believe what just happened. He couldn’t… Hot tears rolled down his face as he whimpered, closing his eyes. He felt unclean. Tainted somehow. He wanted to have a shower and to throw up. 

At least Tyrian had given him back his pants and trousers. Small mercies. 

He was decent if anyone came to rescue him.

But… Tyrian just… Bartholomew wailed. There was no one to hear him anyway. That was gross, that was gross, that was gross! He felt familiar panic rise in his throat. 

He swore he would never let it happen to him again! He had sworn! Awful, awful memories from when he had first been raped, only aged fourteen, played in his mind. It had happened again! Why did it have to happen again? He had sworn to himself he would never let it happen again! 

And it was gross, gross, gross! He wanted a shower. A really hot shower with antibiotics in it. Actually, that would be really nice for his muscles.

And his dislocated arm. 

Bartholomew was starting to worry it might fall off. Was that even possible? It felt like it could fall off. It hurt so much. Struggling hadn’t helped but what else could he have done? 

He glanced down at his chest, that was covered in fresh scratch marks from the knife. It was agony. He really wanted the pain to stop. But there wasn’t anything he could do. 

All he could do there was stand and cry. Pathetic. He really was pathetic. Unable to fend someone off even when his  _ worst fear  _ was about to happen to him. 

He continued to cry. There was nothing else he could do. 

…

“Stop pacing, you’ll make a hole in the floor,” Qrow drawled, looking at Ozpin who pacing around the cargo bay of the airship they were in. 

“It’s been four days Qrow. Four days! Do you know how much pain Salem can inflict on someone in four days?” Ozpin asked, sitting down next to him. 

“A hell ovalot,” Qrow muttered, “but there isn’t anything we can do about it. It’s a two-day flight to Crucible,” 

Ozpin sighed. “I know, but I’m worried. What if they… they could have killed him by now,” 

“Or he could have talked his way out of it, or maybe he’s even escaped,” Qrow suggested. Yeah, that didn’t even sound convincing to himself. 

“I just don’t want another one of my friends to get hurt because of me,” Ozpin whispered, hiding his face in his hands. 

Qrow sighed. He wasn’t good at this. “He’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure Oz, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. “And If he’s not then we’ll patch him and then he’ll be fine,” 

… 

Bartholomew could barely look at Tyrian in the face the next time he saw him. It was a mixture of shame, anger and humiliation. And fear. Bartholomew had to admit to himself, he was terrified of Tyrian. 

“Ready for some more fun?” Tyrian hissed into his ear. 

Bartholomew could do nought but whimper. 

Tyrian slid the knife up his side. “You’re going to do exactly as I say or wish that you had never been born,” 

Bartholomew whimpered again, leaning back against the pillar, trying to get as far away from Tyrian as possible. 

The Tyrian went behind the pillar, untied the rope. Then he roughly shoved Bartholomew down onto his knees, putting weight on Bartholomew’s bad shoulder.

Bartholomew yelled in pain. 

Tyrian tied him back to the post so that he was stuck in a crouching position. 

Then he grabbed a blindfold and tied it around Bartholomew’s eyes. Bartholomew writhed and struggled, trying to make it as difficult as possible. 

Until Tyrian slashed his chest with the knife again. 

“Now,” Tyrian said, “I want to have some fun so you are going to do exactly as I say.” 

… 

Bartholomew sobbed. Tyrian has left again, this time leaving him on the ground. 

Bartholomew was grateful for that at least. He thought his legs might have given out had he tried to stand. And he was grateful that Tyrian had removed the blindfold once he was done… 

Bartholomew wretched. Ugh, he hated Tyrian so much. So, so, so much. He wasn’t usually one to hate people, but Tyrian was an atrocious excuse for a human being. He wretched again, almost grateful that his stomach was empty. It would be a pain if he was actually sick. 

His dry heaving left him sobbing. Everything hurt. What had he done to deserve this? Maybe he did deserve this? Maybe he was just a horrible person? 

He just wanted to go home! He wanted to go home! Sobs racked his chest, flaring up the cuts as he moved. And his shoulder. It was throbbing more than Bartholomew thought could be possible! Everything hurt so so much! He wanted to go home! 

That’s when a terrible thought struck him. He might never go home. Even if he escaped, how would he get off Crucible? And if people came to rescue him, what if they saw what Tyrian had done to him, and were so disgusted that they just left him there? What if he actually deserved this? No - that wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve this. Surely. And if people came to rescue him, they wouldn’t waste a mission and just leave him here. It was going to be fine. He would get out of this. Maybe. Probably. Probably not. 

He was going to die here. 

… 

Tyrian hauled him up by the hair, forcing Bartholomew to stand straight. He then quickly re-tied the ropes. 

Bartholomew trembled. He was cold. Why was it so cold? 

His head was sort of fuzzy, and his vision blurry. Ugh, what was Tyrian going to do to him now? 

“Her Majesty is getting impatient,” Tyrian said, “and I want answers,” 

Bartholomew didn’t reply. Didn’t Tyrian get it? He wasn’t going to reveal anything. Not ever. No matter how much Tyrian degraded him or hurt him, he was never going to say a single thing. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his neck. Was this it? Was Tyrian going to slit his throat? 

But instead of going across, the knife went upwards, travelling onto Bartholomew’s cheek. Bartholomew whimpered. 

“Listen here, rat,” Tyrian whispered, getting in close and almost brushing his ear. “You tell me everything I want to know or I will rape you until you die,” 

“No!” Bartholomew screamed. And without thinking, he kicked his legs forwards as hard as he could. 

Tyrian howled in pain stumbling backwards, covering his crotch with his hands. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed. 

Bartholomew took a deep breath. Why has he done that? It was probably going to be worse for him now. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come. 

There was a thud. Yelling. Flashes of green light. 

Bartholomew opened one eye to look. Tyrian seemed to be… fighting someone? 

There was a crash, and Tyrian fell backwards onto the floor. Someone tackled him and must have injured Tyrian enough for him to mewl in pain. 

And then… then there was more struggling. And another flash of green. And suddenly it seemed to stop. The figure stood up and brushed himself down, before approaching Bartholomew. 

And… they were holding a knife. 

Bartholomew whimpered. Were they going to torture him too? 

“Barty, it’s all right,” the figure said, holding out their free hand. Why did that voice sound so familiar? “I’m just going to cut the ropes,” the voice continued. 

The figure moves behind the pillar, and suddenly the ropes seemed to go slack. Bartholomew crumpled towards the ground, unable to hold his own weight. The figure darted around the pillar and caught him. Bartholomew hissed as his arm got jogged and someone pressed on his chest. 

“Sorry,” the figure whispered. “I’m going to pick you up now, so we can get out of here. Is that okay?”

Bartholomew didn’t reply. He didn’t know what was going on. Maybe this was one of Salem’s tricks to try and make him talk. 

The figure sighed. “I promise everything is going to be okay.” Then they put an arm under Bartholomew’s knees and picked him up bridal style. 

The last thing Bartholomew knew was a voice quietly whispering in a language he didn’t understand. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ozpin was horrified when he first saw Barty, tied up to that pillar in the dungeon. He was covered in blood, and his shoulder seemed to be in a very odd position. 

He was even more horrified when he saw Tyrian pull out a knife and slide it up Barty’s cheek. Anger unfurled in his stomach, telling him to leap at Tyrian now. It took a lot to make Ozpin truly angry. And Tyrian had crossed that line. Pure unfiltered rage boiled in Ozpin’s veins. How could Tyrian live with himself, knowing he had inflicted so much pain? 

But he couldn’t do anything. Not yet. If he moved whilst Tyrian was too close to Barty, then Tyrian would have the opportunity to kill. He had to choose his moment carefully. 

His moment came. Tyrian whispered something in Barty’s ear, and Barty freaked out and kicked Tyrian as hard as he could. Although the fact that Tyrian could say something that would scare Barty so much was concerning, Ozpin took his chance. 

Flying out of the shadows, he slammed his staff into Tyrian’s head with all his might. 

Their fight began. Tyrian was very experienced. The way he fought… if Ozpin didn’t know better then he would have thought that Tyrian’s fighting style was specifically designed to fight other humans, not Grimm. 

But that was okay. Tyrian may have experience, but that was nothing compared to Ozpin. After a millennium of fighting, you learned a thing or two. 

Jump back, dodge, slash, throw up a shield to block his tail… Ozpin slammed his cane into Tyrian’s stomach hard enough for his skin to glow with purple aura as he went flying backwards. 

Ozpin tackled Tyrian, punching his jaw. He didn’t have time for this. By the time he knocked Tyrian out their escape could be foiled. Ozpin slammed his hands over Tyrian’s mouth and nose, choking him. Tyrian tried to sting him again, but Ozpin threw up a shield to block it. Goodness, that was a useful semblance. Two minutes later, Tyrian slumped, unconscious.

Wiping his hands on his knees, Ozpin stood up and put his cane back on his belt. Now to free Barty. 

Ozpin grabbed Tyrian’s knife, planning on cutting the ropes, but as soon as Barty saw the knife he started to whimper in fright. Ozpin felt his heart crumple. What had Tyrian done to him? 

“Barty, it’s all right,” he whispered, reaching out his free hand.  “I’m just going to cut the ropes,”

Barty didn’t react. Maybe he didn’t recognise him? Perhaps he had a fever? 

Ozpin felt slightly sick as he got closer. Barty was in such a state. His whole chest was red with blood. There were small bruises on his chin and down his collar bone. Ozpin shuddered. Surely Tyrian hadn’t… And then there was the fresh cut oosing blood up his neck and cheek. That was probably going to leave a scar. And his shoulder… It was definitely dislocated, if not broken. 

Ozpin quickly moved around the pillar and cut the ropes that were holding Barty in place. Barty slumped, but Ozpin caught him. 

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin mumbled at Barty’s hiss of pain. Oh, what had they done to him?  “I’m going to pick you up now, so we can get out of here. Is that okay?” Ozpin told him. Better to warn him before moving. 

Barty didn’t reply, so Ozpin gently picked him up bridal style.  “I promise everything is going to be okay,” he mumbled into his hair.  _ “Gratias ago tibi, quia non potentiam tuam, nobis permittit manere invisibilis”  _ he whispered. Of course, the words didn’t actually do anything, but they helped him focus his magic. It was vital that no one noticed them until they were outside; Ozpin couldn’t fight and carry Barty at the same time. 

They left the dungeon through the doors and crept out of the castle. Hazel did enter the hall where they were at one point, but his eyes slid over them as if they weren’t there. 

Qrow was waiting for them just outside. 

“Qrow,” Ozpin whispered, walking up to him. 

Qrow blinked in surprise. “I didn’t see you-” his eyes drifted to Barty’s limp body, “-shit, what have they done to him?” 

“Let’s just get him into the airship,” Ozpin mumbled. 

“It’s a good thing that we brought a medical team with us,” Qrow replied, nodding his head. He lead the way into the woods. They were lucky, only coming across a few Grimm, that Qrow was able to dispense of easily. 

Once they were in the airship, Ozpin quickly took Barty to the medical bay, whilst Qrow went to tell the pilot to take off. 

Ozpin lay Barty down on the table as the engines started.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ozpin whispered to him, even though he knew Barty couldn’t hear him, “you’re safe now,” 

“Sir, can you please leave the room,” one of the doctors said gently. 

Ozpin inclined his head and left. 

…

“I know what you’re thinking,” Qrow said, sitting down heavily next to Ozpin, “and it’s not your fault,” 

“We both know that’s not true,” Ozpin mumbled. 

Qrow sighed and took a sip from his hip flask. “Oobleck signed up to be a hunter. He was the one who made the decision to stay behind to let his students escape,” 

“So it’s his fault?”

“Nah. The only person to blame here is the guy who did that to him,” Qrow pointed out. 

“Tyrian,” Ozpin seethed, anger blazing in his eyes for a second. 

Qrow looked angry for a moment too. “I hope you beat him the hell up,” 

“Qrow…” Ozpin started. 

“I know, I know, redemptive violence is not the way, but he deserves it. Anyone who could do that to someone has forfeited their right to live,” Qrow replied, folding his arms.

“I understand the sentiment - but we don’t know what Tyrian went through to make him that way,” Ozpin pointed out. 

Qrow rolled his eyes. “You’re too empathetic for your own good,” 

“Believe me, I’m not trying to defend his actions. But if I tortured him, killed him, I would be as bad as him, would I not?” 

…

When Bartholomew came-to the first thing he realised was that he was comfy. He seemed to be lying down, and he could feel a duvet on top of him. It was heaven. 

He rolled over, snuggling into the soft pillows. Ow. His shoulder hurt. But… not as much as it should have done...

Wait? What was going on? 

Bartholomew’s eyes flew open. He was in his room. His own room. At Beacon. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Bartholomew looked up and saw Ozpin.  _ Ozpin _ was there, sitting in a chair next to his bed. 

“Where- What- how?” Bartholomew spluttered, pushing himself up. His muscles felt stiff, and his chest ached, but not… not as much as he remembered it aching. He looked down at his torso. He was wearing his pyjamas. And when he touched his chest with his hand he could feel the rough fabric of bandages underneath them. He gingerly lifted a hand to his face and touched where he was sure there had been a cut. The skin was a bit num, and it hurt to press on it, but there was no blood. 

“It’s okay,” Ozpin reassured him, “you’re safe now,” 

Bartholomew took a deep shuddering breath. “What about- my arm?” 

“It was dislocated,” Ozpin confirmed, “but the medical team set it and used aura to heal it. Your aura should be able to do the rest, but it may be sore for a few days. The same goes for… your other injuries. I’m afraid the medical team couldn’t do anything about the scarring but it should all heal easily,” 

Bartholomew nodded. “What- What actually happened?” 

Ozpin’s face softened. “How much do you remember?” 

Bartholomew thought back to Tyrian. Tyrian… Tyrian was about to… he felt his breath hitch, and his eyes burn with familiar tears. 

“Do you want a hug?” Ozpin offered quietly. 

Bartholomew nodded, hiding his face in his hands. 

Ozpin shifted onto the bed and held out his arms. Bartholomew curled up against him, still hiding his face in his hands. 

What had happened… He didn’t want to even think about it. If Ozpin hadn’t been there… how could he put this into words? “I… I kicked Tyrian,” Bartholomew eventually settled on, taking a deep breath, and wiping his eyes on his wrists. 

Ozpin gently rubbed his back. “It’s okay to cry you know, you just went through something awful,”

“I… I…” Bartholomew’s lip trembled. He moved and hugged Ozpin tightly, hiding his face in his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe, just let it all out,” Ozpin soothed. 

Bartholomew started to sob. “I thought I was going to die,” he hiccoughed, “it hurt so much and I just wanted to come home,” 

Ozpin just held him and let him cry it out. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” 

Bartholomew trembled, sobs racking his chest. He clung to Ozpin for dear life, just trying to feel safe. 

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Ozpin continued softly, running a hand through his hair, “It’s all over,” 

Bartholomew didn’t reply. Not yet. He couldn’t. He was crying too much. He just clung desperately to Ozpin. A small part of him felt embarrassed at being so vulnerable, but he quelled it. This was Ozpin, one of his closest friends. And Ozpin said it was alright. If Ozpin said it was alright then it was alright. 

And he was safe… Bartholomew was still trying to process the relief. He was safe. He was safe. He was actually safe. He was home. Tyrian couldn’t hurt him anymore. It was going to be alright. 

And then there was the grief… all the pain and humiliation from what had happened. There was so much of it. He didn’t even know how to begin processing those emotions. He had never been so frightened in all his life. He had never felt that kind of terror before; if left you reeling, shaking, and in a way, broken. He was broken. How on Remnant was he going to be able to put his life back together after this? How was he ever going to move on? 

Oh, this was all his fault. If only he had escaped when he first woke up, none of this would have happened! 

Bartholomew managed to take a few shaky deep breaths, still crying. “Are you mad at me?” he asked Ozpin quietly. 

“No, why would I be mad at you?” Ozpin asked. 

“Because you had to rescue me,” Bartholomew managed through tears, “because I got caught, and I wasn’t strong enough… I couldn’t even come up with a plan to escape,” 

“Barty, none of that was your fault,” Ozpin told him clearly, “if anything it was mine for not realising how dangerous sending people to Crucible was,” 

Bartholomew pulled away slightly and looked up at Ozpin’s face. Ozpin was crying slightly too. 

“You know I would never blame you for that,” Bartholomew stated. 

Ozpin smiled weakly. “I know,” he gently pulled Bartholomew back into the hug, “I’m just glad you’re safe,” 

“I… Thank you for rescuing me,” Bartholomew whispered. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did…” A fresh wave of sobs overcame him. He didn’t want to think about it, but the memory was burned into his mind. He couldn’t forget it. The way Tyrian smiled and licked his lips… 

“Barty, it’s okay, you’re not there, you’re safe,” Ozpin reassured him. 

Right. He was safe. At Beacon. Halfway across the world from Crucible. Oh gods, he was  _ actually safe _ . No one would hurt him here. No more knives or wips or… he didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Ozpin offered softly, still holding Bartholomew close. 

“Not… not right now,” Bartholomew mumbled, “Please just… stay. I don’t want to be alone right now,” 

“Of course,” Ozpin replied, “I’ll stay for as long as you want,” 

… 

Several hours later Ozpin brought Bartholomew some hot chocolate and breakfast. 

“I could get it myself you know,” Bartholomew grumbled, gratefully taking the tray and placing it on his lap nonetheless. 

“The Doctors said that you have to spend at least the day in bed, if not more, depending on how long it takes for your aura to recharge,”

Bartholomew grunted, before digging into his plate of food. There was so much of it! Bartholomew hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the food was in front of him, but now it was he could feel his stomach growling. There was porridge! A whole bowl of warm porridge! It had been made with dark sugar and raisins as well. 

“This is so good!” he exclaimed, taking a mouthful, “Thank you!” 

Ozpin smiled and dug into his own bowl. “Nothing can beat a good bowl of porridge on a cold morning,” 

“So how are the students doing?” Bartholomew asked. It was almost odd, having such a normal conversation when Bartholomew knew that his eyes were probably still red and puffy from crying. But it was nice. It gave him some semblance of familiarity. 

“Oh they are all quite well,” Ozpin replied, “I was right about Mr Hale and Mrs Lairnry. They are together. You should have seen Glynda’s face when she realised that she owed me ten lien,” 

“And Mr Arc and Mrs Nikos?”

“Not yet,” Ozpin replied. 

Bartolommeo actually smiled. “I knew it. That means Port owes me twenty Lien. He was so convinced they would get together before the end of the month!” he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “And what of my classes? I only prepared a few days worth of lessons,” 

“The students have been doing revision. I gave the second years a recap on the battle of Yra, and Glynda got the first years to act out the battle of Vacuo. And I believe Port attempted to teach the third years about the Patch agreement…” Ozpin trailed off. 

“I’ll have to re-teach that lesson,” Bartholomew mused.

“Port isn’t that bad of a teacher-”

Bartholomew rolled his eyes. “He may not be bad at Grimm studies, but he’s useless at History. I doubt he himself could pass a test on the Patch agreement, let alone teach someone else to pass it.” He paused for a moment to have another mouthful of porridge, “And I do hope you didn’t fill my student’s heads with nonsense about the battle of Yra,” 

“I told them what really happened if that’s what you mean,” 

Bartholomew sighed dramatically. “You do know that the test will be on what’s in the textbook- not how you remember the battle?” 

“But isn’t the truth more important?” Ozpin argued. 

“The truth is important, but forgive me if I don’t entirely trust your memory. You once told me that the battle of Vacuo took place in Mistral, remember?” Bartholomew replied. 

“I was tired - and besides both of the deserts look the same,” Ozpin grumbled. 

Bartholome merely rolled his eyes and went back to eating his breakfast. 

“Oh, there is some stuff for you,” Ozpin said suddenly. 

“Hm?” Bartholomew asked. 

Ozpin left the room for a second and came back with two big colourful bags.

“This one is from team CFVY,” Ozpin told him, handing him a purple bag. 

Bartholomew opened it. Inside was a “thank you” card with a sweet message inside. Team CFVY were extremely grateful that he’d helped them escape. There was also a big box of chocolates. 

“And this one is from team RWBY,” Ozpin passed him the second bag. 

Inside was an obviously handmade card, covered in glitter, that read “get well soon!” on the front. It had individual messages from each of the team members inside. Ruby’s was short and funny “please get well soon or we’ll all fail history”, Yang’s was… very Yang, “If you beat a giant Mech Suit you can beat anything,” Weiss’ was all prim and proper, “We send you our best wishes and hope that you make a swift recovery,” and Blake has just written “get well soon,” and nothing else. 

There was also a tiny box of Turkish delight, a packet of ‘exploding jelly-beans’, a small bag of cookies, and a tin of mints. There was a note on top which read “we couldn’t decide what to get, so we each chose one thing”. 

Bartholomew put the two cards on his bedside table and piled up the food behind them. 

“It seems team RWBY have become very attached to you, although I am fairly sure that it was Miss Rose who made the card,” Ozpin commented.

Bartholomew looked at the amount of glitter that had fallen on the bed and on the bedside table and had to agree. 

… 

At lunchtime, Bartholomew managed to convince Ozpin to allow him to go to the canteen. (“I can’t be stuck in bed all day, I’ll go mad!” “Okay, okay, but no using your semblance. Your aura is only at two percent,” )

Now though, he was starting to regret it. Sure it was nice to sit with Port and Glynda, but the canteen was  _ noisy _ . And not just that, but other teachers kept coming up to him and wishing him well, or even worse,  _ asking him what happened _ . All Bartholomew could do was swallow the pain, and make a joke about getting on the wrong side of a knife. 

Bartholomew thought that Port and Glynda might have asked questions too, but Ozpin gave them  _ a look _ , and changed the subject. Thank goodness. 

Still, Bartholomew was starting to get stressed. Not only was his back and chest hurting from supporting his weight for so long, but there was just so much going on. People were talking everywhere, all along the staff table, and down in the student’s area. And there was the clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and the sound of benches scraping along the floor as people moved about. 

Another teacher stopped to say hello, and make a comment about Bartholomew’s facial scar  _ of course _ . Bartholomew felt his hands start to shake, and he clenched and unclenched his fists under the table, trying to steady them. 

Suddenly, there was a weight on Bartholomew’s lap. He looked down in surprise to see a familiar grey and white Corgi. 

“Hello Zwei,” he said, grateful for the distraction. He made a small fuss of him, petting his head and tickling him under the chin. In return Zwei leapt up and put his paws on Bartholomew’s chest, snuggling him. 

Bartholomew picked Zwei up and stood up hurriedly as another teacher approached. “I’ll just take him back to Miss Rose,” he told his friends. 

Because of his height, Zwei was now able to put his paws on one of his shoulders, and flop against him. Zwei really was very cuddly, Bartholomew mused. 

It didn’t take long to find Miss Rose and her team; they were just leaving the cafeteria. Bartholomew almost used his semblance to catch up with them, but thought better of it at the last minute and stuck to walking instead. Ozpin would have his head if he broke his aura again. 

“Miss Rose,” he called, once he was outside, “I have your dog,” 

“Zwei! That’s where you went!” Ruby exclaimed. 

Bartholomew detached Zwei from himself and passed Zwei back to Ruby. Zwei whined. 

“Are you feeling better, sir?” Ruby giving Zwei a quick cuddle, before placing him in the ground. Zwei immediately ran back to Bartholomew and started running around his ankles. 

“Very much, thank you. I trust all of you have been keeping up with your homework?” he asked. Their looks of disgust almost made him laugh. It was so fun being a teacher sometimes. He turned to leave. 

“Zwei, get back here,” Yang scolded, once she noticed Zwei following him. 

Dejectedly, Zwei went back to team RWBY. 

“Did you see his scar?” Bartholomew could hear their hushed voices from around the corner. He touched the scar on his face self-consciously. 

“I thought it looked totally badass!” a voice that was definitely Miss Rose’s exclaimed. 

Bartholomew smiled and made his way back to his room.

He sent a quick message on his scroll to Ozpin, telling him that he was full and wouldn’t be returning to lunch. That was only partially true. The real reason was that he didn’t feel like braving the canteen again. 

...

 

Since he was so tired, even though he had done nothing all day, Bartholomew decided to go to bed at eight. Unfortunately, that meant that it was only eleven o’clock at night when he awoke, gasping for air. 

He untangled himself from the bedclothes, trying to get the image of Tyrian smirking out of his head. 

Oh gods, Tyrian had… Tyrian had… Damn it, he knew what Tyrian had done. He had been there. He should just use the word. Being ashamed to use the word… to even think the word  _ rape _ wasn’t helping anyone. 

Bartholomew hugged himself, as tears ran down his face. Tyrian had  _ raped _ him, twice. And he hadn’t been able to resist… he felt bile rise in his throat. Dang it, he was going to be sick! 

Swallowing, he climbed out of bed, and shakily found his dressing gown and slippers, before slipping out of his room and going to the staff bathroom. Ugh. Why did they have to have shared bathrooms for all of the staff? Well, because it would cost too much to give everyone an en-suite, he knew, but still… 

Once he had finished throwing up, he washed his face and glares at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was just the harsh bathroom lights, but he looked terrible. His eyes were all red, his skin looked clammy, and he was shaking. And then there was the scar. Bartholomew hadn’t really gotten a proper look at it yet. It was long and thin, travelling up his neck to his cheek. He touched it gingerly. It was still numb. At least it would probably fade in time… and it’s not like he overly cared how he looked anyway… 

The door opened, and someone came in. 

“Barty, are you okay?” It was Ozpin. Well, at least that was better than some random teacher Bartholomew didn’t really know. 

Bartholomew nodded. 

Ozpin reached out his hand to touch Bartholomew’s shoulder, but Bartholomew flinched away. 

“Please, don’t touch me,” he whispered. 

Ozpin nodded and dropped his hand to his side. “If you need anything, I’m happy to sit up and chat for a bit longer,” 

Bartholomew thought about this. It would be nice. Although he didn’t want to be a pain… but he also really didn’t want to be alone right now. “I’d like that,” 

A few minutes later Bartholomew was curled up on the end of Ozpin’s sofa. 

Ozpin gently put a mug of hot cocoa down on the coffee table for him and sat at the other end of the sofa. 

“I had a nightmare,” Bartholomew whispered after a few moments pause. 

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin said, “although I can’t say I’m surprised,” 

They sat in silence for a few more moments. 

“Barty… when I found you just now… did you throw up?” Ozpin asked gently.

Bartholomew nodded into his knees, hiding his face. 

“Do you feel shivery? Headachy? Any symptoms of a fever?” Ozpin continued. 

Bartholomew shook his head. “I… I threw because of how gross my nightmare was,” 

“Oh,” Ozpin said. 

Internally, Bartholomew was having a debate. On one hand, he really really wanted to get what had happened off his chest. He wanted to tell Ozpin everything, and just have a good cry about it. On the other hand… something was holding him back. Shame? Anguish? The fear of being emotionally vulnerable? He didn’t know. But something… something was making him apprehensive to open his mouth. 

“When… when you rescued me from the dungeon… how much… how much did you see?” Bartholomew asked quietly. 

“When I arrived, Tyrian took the knife and… sliced your face,” Ozpin replied, “and I saw… the state that you were in,” 

Bartholomew self-consciously raised a hand to his neck, where Tyrian had given him multiple hickeys. He started to sob into his knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin whispered, “I didn’t mean to upset you,” 

“It’s… it's okay,” Bartholomew managed through his sobs, “I want to talk about it anyway… it’s just really really hard,” 

“Take as long as you need,” Ozpin told him. 

Bartholomew nodded into his knees and tried to gain control over his sobbing. It was a lost cause. He was too overwhelmed. There was nothing that could stop him from crying now. 

“Tyrian… Tyrian raped me,” Bartholomew finally managed through his tears, “twice,” 

“Oh, Barty, I am so so sorry. That’s awful,” Ozpin murmured. 

“And, and, and it was so gross, and icky, and I was terrified, but I couldn’t do anything, because I was tied up and he kept cutting me with the knife anyway, and it hurt, it really really hurt,” Bartholomew wailed. 

“Oh Barty,” Ozpin said sorrowfully. 

“And the whole time I just wanted it to stop, you know? I just wanted it to stop. It was even worse than I remember it; worse than when it happened as a kid. How is that even possible?” Bartholomew broke into more sobs. “How am I ever going to move past this? I’m probably going to have PTSD or something from what happened, aren’t I? How am I going to deal with that? Will I have to stop being a hunter?” 

“Lots of hunters have some form of PTSD, so unless you choose to quit, you will still be a hunter,” Ozpin started gently, “as for moving past it… seeing a therapist could help. And time. Time helps,” 

Bartholomew took a deep, shuddering breath. “Right,” 

“That’s doesn’t mean you can’t be upset though,” Ozpin continued, “it’s okay to cry,” 

Bartholomew nodded and hid his head in his knees again, hugging himself. “Can I… could I maybe have a hug now?” 

Ozpin nodded. “Of course,” he scooted up the sofa, and gently wrapped his arms around Bartholomew, pulling him into his chest. 

Bartholomew relaxed somewhat and snuggled into Ozpin’s top. “I was so scared,” he whispered. 

“I know,” Ozpin mumbled, gently running a hand through his hair. 

Ozpin held Bartholomew like that for a while, allowing him to cry in the safety of his arms. 

Eventually, Bartholomew’s sobs retreated into sniffles. “I suppose I should probably go back to bed,” he whispered. 

“If you want to stay here for tonight, then that’s okay. I can sleep on the sofa,” Ozpin offered. 

“Really?” Bartholomew asked, “you wouldn’t mind?” 

“I wouldn’t mind. It’s a very comfy sofa. And in any case, I’ve slept at my desk enough times not to really mind where I spend the night,” 

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that you know. You need to sleep properly,” 

Ozpin smiled down at him fondly. “You’re probably right,” He then stood up, picking Bartholomew up in his arms. 

Bartholomew spluttered. “You don’t have to carry me,” he hid his face on Ozpin’s shoulder, embarrassed. 

Ozpin walked over to the bed, and lay Bartholomew down on it. “Sometimes you remind me of my-little-Theo,” he mumbled, almost under his breath. He then tucked Bartholomew in, and ruffled his hair.

Bartholomew reached out and grabbed Ozpin’s sleeve. He felt stupid but… “stay?” he whispered. 

Ozpin nodded and lay down under the covers next to Bartholomew. Bartholomew instinctively curled up against him, burying his head on Ozpin’s chest. Ozpin gently hugged him. 

Bartholomew was partly embarrassed but mostly thankful and amused. It was nice. “Who’s little-Theo?” He mumbled. 

“I said that out loud?” Ozpin thought for a moment, “don’t worry about it,” 

… 

The next morning, when Bartholomew was planning some classes, he suddenly realised who “little Theo” was. The textbook was open on a page about the King of Vale, and in the picture was a kind looking man (Ozpin, Bartholomew reminded himself) and his son. Prince Theodore. 

Bartholomew was strangely touched and slightly honoured at being compared to Prince Theodore. He smiled to himself. In some ways, Ozpin treated everyone as if they were his kids, bringing them hot cocoa whilst they were working and gently reminding them to go to bed if they were up too late. It was really sweet. 

Bartholomew had few memories of his actual father, and even less that he cared to think about. Was this what it was like to have someone to trust? Who was a friend who would support you no matter what? It was very nice, certainly. 

…

That day Bartholomew decided to go back to teaching classes. Ozpin was worried, certainly, but his health was improving. His aura was back up to five percent, so although it wouldn’t be wise to use his semblance, he was well enough to teach. 

It was odd, sticking to one spot in the classroom, but Bartholomew sat on his desk and tried to make it work. At least he was just doing a review of everything they had learnt that term. The students seemed to be enjoying themselves in any case. Well, as much as they could enjoy doing practise exam questions. 

A door slammed somewhere in the building, and Bartholomew internally jumped. But it was okay. No one noticed. In any case, he was known for being hyperactive and twitchy. It was probably due to the excess amount of coffee he drank, and affinity with his semblance. No one would notice if he was a little more jumpy than usual. 

Some gunshots were heard from outside the window. That was fine. It was probably just some students doing target practice. He got up and went to sit behind his desk, trying to concentrate on some marking. He gripped the edge of his chair discreetly. Why was this making him nervous? It had nothing to do with… the thing he wasn’t thinking about. 

Suddenly he heard Miss Rose whisper: “No! Zwei! Get back here!” 

Zwei ran across the room and darted onto Bartholomew’s lap. Bartholomew jumped slightly, but then smiled. Zwei was the cutest dog in the whole world. He gently petted Zwei, as Zwei snuggled him. 

Mrs Rose, who had got up from her seat to retrieve Zwei, seemed to change her mind, and went back to her work. 

Bartholomew ran his hands through Zwei’s fur and took a deep breath. It was oddly comforting, having a small dog on his lap. It gave him something to concentrate on, besides his work. 

… 

“Do you think Doctor Oobleck is alright?” Ruby asked, snuggling Zwei, as she walked back to her dorm with the rest of her team. 

“I mean, he seems normal enough,” Blake pointed out. 

“And if he isn’t then it really isn’t any of our business,” Weiss commented, opening the door to their room. 

“I mean Zwei seems pretty concerned about him,” Yang pointed out, climbing up onto her bed. 

“What has that got to do with anything?” Weiss demanded. 

“Zwei had service dog training,” Ruby explained. 

“Yeah he was supposed to become an emotional support dog for people with post-traumatic stress,” Yang explained, “Only he flunked out of training and we adopted him,” 

“Why did Zwei fail his training?” Blake asked. 

“Oh, you know, he gets distracted too easily, and he’s scared of other dogs,” Ruby said. 

“I still don’t see what this has got to do with anything,” Weiss pouted, folding her arms and sitting on her bed. 

“Zwei is supposed to jump on someone’s lap and hug them if he thinks their upset,” Ruby explained. 

“It’s pretty much the only bit of his training that he didn’t fail,” Yang added. 

“Well maybe you should lend Zwei to Doctor Oobleck for the afternoon,” Blake suggested, “It’s not like there’s anything else we can do,” 

“I’m sure professor Ozpin and the others are taking good care of him,” Weiss added. “Whatever happened isn’t any of our business,” 

“Didn’t team CFVY say that they got separated when they were fighting another human?” Yang asked. 

Blake nodded, “For all we know he could have been captured and tortured by the White Fang,” 

Ruby gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “That’s horrible!” 

“Do the White Fang torture people often?” Weiss asked quietly. 

Blake looked away and put a hand across her stomach. “I’m not really sure. When I was with them I knew that it sometimes happened when they needed information, but I turned a blind eye and ignored it,” 

…

Ruby knocked on Doctor’s Oobleck’s office door. 

“Miss Rose, how can I help you?” he asked, opening the door. Zwei immediately bounded up to him, and started head-butting his legs, and jumping. Oobleck picked Zwei up and cuddled him subconsciously. Zwei barked happily and rolled his head on Oobleck’s shoulder. 

“It’s Zwei sir,” Ruby mumbled shyly, “He- We just found out we can’t take him to the- er- Cinema with us- and we know he really likes you so we were wondering if you could watch him for the afternoon?”  She paused for a second. “Of course, you don’t have to, we can always find someone else if necessary, I just thought that you might like his company-” 

“I’d like that,” Doctor Oobleck interrupted Ruby mid-ramble. “When do you want me to return him?” 

“Umm, we should be back anytime after six,” Ruby said, rubbing the back of her head, “Thank you sir!” and with that, she ran off. 

… 

Bartholomew was in fact extremely happy to be looking after Zwei. It gave him something to pre-occupy his mind with, and distract him from the constant adrenaline running through his veins. It was rather annoying in fact, how jumpy he was. Every time he heard a noise, he had a second of “what if it’s danger!?” before his rational kicked in and he remembered that he was at Beacon, safe. Yep, he was safe. It was kind of hard to believe. 

A little later on, when Bartholomew went to have a nap in his room. He brought Zwei with him of course. And the cutest thing happened. Zwei decided that he wanted to sleep on Bartholomew’s stomach. Bartholomew had never been so grateful to the little dog. He was actually fairly apprehensive about trying to sleep, knowing that he would probably have nightmares of…  _ that _ . But since Zwei was napping on his stomach, he couldn’t change his mind and go back to work until he collapsed. He also had something to focus on whilst he drifted off. 

_ Darkness… darkness… “you should enjoy this” a maniacal voice laughed…  _

Bartholomew woke up gasping, Zwei pawing at him. Bartholomew pushed himself up and pulled Zwei into a hug. Zwei whined and snuggled him, sensing his distress.  __ Bartholomew hid his face in Zwei’s fur, crying softly. 

“I’m so pathetic,” Bartholomew mumbled to Zwei, “crying over a nightmare like a child,” 

Zwei whined disapprovingly. 

Bartholomew tried to smile weakly. “You know, I can almost hear Ozpin in my head, telling me it’s okay to be upset over a nightmare. Especially when that nightmare actually… actually happened,” 

Zwei whined again and pawed Bartholomew’s chest. Then he wriggled out of his grasp, jumped off the bed and ran into the main room. 

There was a knock on the door. Oh. Zwei must have heard the visitor arrive. 

Rubbing his eyes, Bartholomew shakily got up. It was probably Ozpin. Where were his glasses? Gah- his eyes were still watering, there was no point in trying to wear them. 

Stumbling out of his bedroom and into the main room, Bartholomew opened the door. 

“Barty! I was just wondering if you’d like to join me for afternoon tea?” Port exclaimed. 

Oh. It wasn’t Ozpin. 

Bartholomew almost slammed the door in Port’s face, but thought better of it at the last moment. He wiped his eyes once more on his sleeve. 

“I’m rather tired right now-“ he managed, “maybe another time?” 

“Barty, are you crying?” Port asked gently, reaching out and placing a hand on Bartholomew’s shoulder. 

Bartholomew flinched, and pushed away his arm. “Please, don’t touch me,” 

“Barty…” Port started. 

“Just, come inside,” Bartholomew stood aside to let Port in. Then, after closing the door, they went and sat down on the green sofa. 

“What’s wrong?” Port asked. 

“I- I thought you were Ozpin,” Bartholomew started. 

Port looked mildly uncomfortable. “And that’s enough to make you upset?” 

“No- no- I just mean- I’m just sorry you have to see me this way,” Bartholomew quickly explained through his hands that he was now hiding his face in. 

“It’s quite alright friend; now why don’t you tell what’s the matter and we’ll sort it out,” Port said in what was supposed to be a calming voice. Quite honestly it sounded patronising, but right now Bartholomew didn’t have it in him to care. 

“I- I had a nightmare,” Bartholomew started. “About… about what happened,” 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Port asked. 

Bartholomew looked away. “I- I’m sorry, I really don’t- I can’t- I really don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled through his tears. 

“Oh come I’m sure it can’t have been that bad,” Port said, putting an arm around Bartholomew and trying to hug him. 

_ Laughter… pain… the knife… _

Bartholomew shoved Port away and stumbled up, walking over to the wall opposite and leaning on it. 

_“Do exactly as I say or it will be worse for you,”_ _Tyrian giggled, swiping Bartholomew's chest with the knife, “and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”_

_ Bartholomew whimpered and tried to move but he was tied up.  _

Bartholomew curled up, with his arms over his head. No, no no no no! He wasn’t there! He was in his living room! At Beacon! 

Oh, Port was crouching in front of him. 

“Barty, what’s going on?” Port asked gently, reaching out to touch Bartholomew’s shoulder. 

Bartholomew batted his hand away and stood up. “Just go,” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry?” Port asked, standing up as well, and taking a step closer to Bartholomew.

Bartholomew pushed him away, towards the door. “Just.. just go… please…” 

“I don’t think you should be left alone in this state,” Port ventured, “What you need is a hug and a nice cup of tea-” 

“I said I don’t want to be touched!” Bartholomew half yelled. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Port said, offended, “Why are you overreacting so much?” 

“Get out of my room. Now,” Bartholomew said. 

Port didn’t move. 

“Just go! Please!” Bartholomew yelled. 

Port finally turned and left, grumbling about ‘ungratefulness’ and ‘can’t he see I’m just trying to help’. 

Bartholomew slammed the door shut, and leant against it, sinking to the floor. Zwei came up to him and whined softly, pawing at his side. Ah, he must have hidden under the sofa when they started yelling. 

“Sorry for scaring you,” Bartholomew mumbled, gently petting Zwei’s head, “I just… I just…” His eyes welled up with more tears, and he hid his face in his knees hiccoughing softly. That was awful. So awful. Was he going to get these flashbacks frequently? And Port… Port had been so unhelpful! Bartholomew had never imagined that Port wouldn’t understand something as simple as a ‘no touching’ boundary. And it’s not as if Bartholomew didn’t want any hugs at all! It was just when he was panicking… it didn’t help. If he wasn’t panicking, and he was just upset, then it was fine! Was it his fault for being too sensitive? Oh no. It was, wasn’t it? It was his fault that he had just fought with Port. What if their friendship was broken? No, that was stupid. Their friendship wasn’t broken. And in case it was mostly Port’s fault… right? Right? 

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. 

“It’s Ozpin,” a soft voice said through the wood, “Port asked me to check up on you?” 

Bartholomew scrambled up and opened the door, to allow Ozpin to come in. 

A few moments later, Bartholomew was curled up in a corner of the sofa, Ozpin at the other end, and most importantly, not touching him.

“I had a flashback,” Bartholomew hiccoughed, “Well, I had a nightmare first, and then Port came in, and he tried to hug me, only that made it worse, and then I had the flashback,” 

“Did you tell Port that you don’t wish to be touched?” Ozpin asked gently. 

Bartholomew nodded. “Yes… but he didn’t listen,” 

Ozpin frowned. “That’s not okay,” 

“He just doesn’t know any better,” Bartholomew cried, “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have overreacted,” 

“Not, it’s not okay,” Ozpin replied sternly, “he didn’t listen to you and caused you to have a flashback. Do you want me to talk to him for you?” 

“Mhm, th-thank you,” Bartholomew nodded. 

“Do you want to be on your own or do you want me to stay?” Ozpin asked gently. 

Bartholomew thought about this. Although part of him wanted to be alone… what if Port came back? Or a different teacher? Bartholomew didn’t think he could face them right now. And having Ozpin around made him feel safer. 

“Stay, please,” Bartholomew decided, “I’ll… when I’ve stopped crying we could work on paperwork or something,” 

“Take as long as you need,” Ozpin said gently. 

…

When Bartholomew woke up the next morning, he was on the sofa, curled up next to Ozpin. They were under a few blankets, and the television was still on, although whatever movie they had been watching had ended long ago. 

Ozpin stirred as Bartholomew buried himself into the cuddle. 

“You know, we should probably get up and have breakfast,” Ozpin murmured. 

Bartholomew squinted at the clock. He couldn’t read it without his glasses… “Surely it’s not past seven,” 

Ozpin glanced over. “It’s nearly half past eight,” 

“I’ve got a class to teach at nine!” Bartholomew screeched, leaping up. “I’m going to be late!” 

… 

Several hours later

...

_ Beeeweee Beeeeweeee Beeeeweee _

Bartholomew almost jumped out of his skin when the fire alarm went off. There was no fire drill scheduled for today… which meant that this was not a drill. Damn.  

Bartholomew stood and calmly walked out of his office, joining the crowds of people rushing towards the doors. 

He felt his hands shake a little, so he clenched and unclenched them. It was probably fine. Maybe someone had burnt some toast or something. It was the noise that was the real problem. And in any case, his hands might just be shaking because he was tired. Heaven knows he didn’t get enough sleep last night. It had turned out to be very hard to fall asleep without Zwei there, not to mention the number of times he had woken up due to nightmares. 

He walked steadily, trying to set a good example for the students. Goodness, didn’t they know that you were supposed to leave in  _ a calm and orderly fashion  _ if the fire alarm went off. Glynda would have their heads later. Maybe he would accidentally forget to go to the next assembly. He didn’t envy the students. 

A few minutes later everyone was standing outside the school on the backfield. 

Since Bartholomew hadn’t been teaching a class at the time, he didn’t have anything to do apart from wait until the fire engines arrived. Which they would shortly; the school had an automatic link to the fire department. 

A few students were coughing and seemed to have some black soot on their faces. Oh dear. That wasn’t good. 

He wandered over to them to see if he could help. Ah, it was Mr Arc and Mr Lie. 

“We’re okay sir,” Jaune coughed, “We just inhaled some of the smoke from our science experiment,” 

“Is that what caused the fire?” Bartholomew asked. 

Ren nodded. 

“A gust of wind knocked a vial of fire-dust into our project,” Jaune explained. 

“Are your teammates alright?” Bartholomew asked the boys. 

Ren’s eyes widened and Jaune looked around. “Pyrrha? Nora?” He shouted, before coughing again. 

“I’ll look for your teammates,” Bartholomew told them, “you to go and talk to Mrs Armistead, the school nurse. She’s right over there,” 

Jaune nodded, and he and Ren walked over to Mrs Armistead as Bartholomew turned away to go and look for Miss Nikos and Miss Valkyrie. 

He found them in the other side of the field, also frantically looking for their teammates. 

“They are with Miss Armistead,” Bartholomew told them, “on the other side of the field,”

“Is Jaune alright?” Pyrrha asked. 

“And Ren?” Nora added. 

“Mrs Armistead has a powerful healing semblance- they will be fine,” Bartholomew reassured them. 

Next Bartholomew went and joined the crowd of teachers at the front of the school. They were talking to a fireman. 

“The sprinklers put the fire out pretty quick,” the fireman informed them, “although we need to check for structural damage. I’m afraid it will be at least two hours before we can allow anyone back inside the school. Now if the headmaster and the teacher involved in the incident will step this way, I have some paperwork that needs signing,” 

Ozpin and the science teacher walked off with the fireman, whilst the rest of the teachers stood around chatting. 

“Well this should be fun,” Port said sarcastically. 

Bartholomew ignored him, and turned away, and went and sat under a tree away from anyone else. He wasn’t going to deal with that. Not today. 

“Lonely?” Glynda asked, gracefully sitting down beside him. 

“Not particularly- although you are welcome to sit here if you wish,” Bartholomew replied. 

“I noticed you and Peter aren’t talking,” Glynda commented. 

That was always the way with Glynda. Statements. It was nice in a way, it gave you the option to ignore her silent question.

“We are not,” was all Bartholomew said. 

“Maybe we should organise a study group for the students so that these two hours aren’t wasted,” Glynda suggested. 

“A study group? Really Glynda? And with what materials do you suggest they study?” Bartholomew asked. 

“Well, we could teach them some new things. Surely you know some good historical stories you could tell?” Glynda asked. 

“And who would listen when they’ve got the option to run around and have fun in the sun?” Bartholomew asked. 

“We could make them. I’m worried they may start trying to practise fighting or the like, left to their own devices,” Glynda explained. 

“Then we should organise a way for them to run around,” Bartholomew suddenly said, straightening up, “We could organise a game of capture the flag! It would be masses of fun with so many students! And I’m sure could borrow some tea towels from the dinner ladies to use as flags!” 

Glynda looked doubtful. “Capture the flag?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Bartholomew said excitedly, “we can be the team captains! We should go to the forest just over there to play! We can use the creek as the separation between the two territories!” 

“I fail to see how this is productive,” Glynda stated. 

“It teaches the students… how to strategise?” Bartholomew suggested. 

Glynda looked unimpressed. 

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t think you can beat me,” Bartholomew goaded. 

Glynda’s mouth presses into a firm line. “Of course I can beat you,” 

“Then prove it,” Bartholomew stated, a grin tugging at his lips. 

“Perhaps I will,” Glynda said, pushing herself up. 

…

Twenty minutes later they had formed teams and were discussing strategies. Bartholomew’s group were sitting in a circle, in a small clearing, on their side of the woods. They had elected to put their flag up in a tree at the back of the clearing; that way it would be easy to defend as they could see anyone who tried to approach. 

“We should split into multiple groups,” Bartholomew told his group excitedly, “Some of you need to stay here to defend the flag. Three people should protect a random tree as a decoy. We also need people flagging the creek, to stop anyone who tries to cross. Finally, we need one group who will attempt to retrieve the other flag, and two people to act as scouts, “ 

“I call scout!” Ruby said immediately, throwing her hand up in the air, “I can use my semblance to move myself and a partner around quickly so we won’t be spotted! Who wants to come with me?” 

“Not it,” Pyrrha quickly replied, “last time you used your semblance on me, I threw up,” 

“Jaune?” Ruby asked. 

“I think I’ll stick with Pyrrha,” Jaune said, “We can defend the flag,” 

“Yang?” Ruby asked hopefully. 

“Sorry Rubes, I want to be on the attack team,” Yang stated, throwing her arms behind her head. 

All the other students hung their heads. It seemed that no one was particularly keen to go with Miss Rose. It was understandable though; if you weren’t used to going fast then most would find it extremely disorientating. 

“Professor?” Ruby looked up at him with hopeful eyes. Of course, it could work, Bartholomew mused. He was fine going at high speed since it was his semblance as well. He simply hadn’t thought any students would want to be stuck with him. Ah well, being a scout would be a lot of fun. 

“Alright,” he agreed, inclining his head. “Everyone else, split into groups. We will meet the attack team at the spot where the creek splits into two in seven minutes,” 

“Yeah! We’re gonna win!” Ruby exclaimed jumping up. Once she and Bartholomew had walked to the edge of the clearing, Ruby grabbed him by the arm and flew into her semblance. 

And it was exhilarating. Bartholomew hadn’t thought that he’d forget what it was like to travel so fast in only two weeks, but… it some ways he had. There was nothing that could compare to this; the wind in his hair, the world barely more than a blur, scenery changing so rapidly that he didn’t have time to think. It was a little odd, travelling with Ruby. They were sort of flying, feet not touching the ground. And twisting like a tornado having a fit. But that was okay. What mattered was that they were going  _ fast _ and Bartholomew loved it. 

Suddenly Ruby screeched to a halt, and they both fell over, narrowly missing a tree that Ruby had been about to hit. 

“Sorry!” Ruby exclaimed. 

Bartholomew laughed. He actually  _ laughed. _ Because he’d forgotten what it was like to feel so alive. And because crashing into trees was a thing he had done all of the time as a teenager. And because somehow, in the midst the mess that was his life, he realised it was still possible to have fun. 

Ruby giggled as well. “I’m not good at turning at the last moment,” 

“It’s a skill that has to be learnt,” Bartholomew replied through his laughs. 

Suddenly there were footsteps. “Did you hear something?” a voice said from beyond the trees. 

Bartholomew motioned to the bushes. Ruby nodded. They both climbed under them. 

The feet of the two people walked passed. 

“You sure you heard something?” the chap asked. Ah, it was Mr Daichi. 

“Well, it was probably nothing,” Miss Scarlatina mumbled. 

The two of them moved on. 

Bartholomew and Ruby climbed out from under the bushes, and Ruby pulled Bartholomew into her semblance again. 

They went a little slower this time, the woods were thicker here, and Ruby had to weave from side to side to avoid hitting the trees. 

They suddenly stopped and dove behind some bushes. 

Glynda was standing in the clearing, looking around suspiciously. And behind her, in what was probably the other team’s base, was Yang, Coco, Blake and the rest of the attack team. 

Oh. They had been captured. Great. 

“There’s the flag!” Ruby whispered excitedly. “Shall I grab it?”

Unfortunately, Glyna then looked their way. 

Bartholomew pushed Ruby out of the way and jumped out of the bushes. 

“Barty,” Glynda stated, feigning boredom. 

“Glynda,” Bartholomew smirked. She hadn’t noticed Ruby, who was now creeping towards her teammates. 

Ruby darted forward and freed everyone. As Glynda rushed Bartholomew, trying to catch him, on instinct he used his semblance to move two meters. His aura broke, but he ignored it  He then grabbed the flag from the tree and threw it to Ruby. 

Ruby swirled into her semblance and ran off towards the creek, followed by her teammates. 

A few moments later, there were shouts of “We won! We won!” 

Bartholomew smiled at Glynda. If he didn’t know better he would have thought that she was smiling as well. 

And for a time, Bartholomew felt truly happy. 

…

Port was sulking on a balcony. It was so unfair! He hadn’t done anything wrong! And yet, Bart- Oobleck was completely refusing to speak to him. They were supposed to be best friends dang it! Couldn’t they just talk things through? 

“Lonely?” 

Oh, it was Ozpin. 

Port grunted. Ozpin was Bar- Oobleck’s other best friend, and sure to take Oobleck’s side. Port was slightly jealous of their closeness sometimes; he spent way more time with Barty and yet Ozpin and Barty always seemed closer! It probably made sense; those two were the same age after all and had been on a team together when they were studying. But still… it really wasn’t fair. 

“If I may say so, I have often found that trying to relate someone else’s experience to my own is a good way to understand their point of view,” Ozpin started. 

Port grunted again. 

“You know, Barty may be angry with you, but I know that he misses you. I’m sure he would welcome an opportunity to make up,” 

“Then he can damn well come and apologise,” Port grumbled. 

“Port… you remember when your parents died in that house fire?” Ozpin asked gently. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but for weeks afterwards you wouldn’t talk about them. And for ages, you avoided the North district of Vale, where their house used to be,” Ozpin prompted, “Can you remember why that was?” 

“I didn’t want to be reminded of them,” 

“Now think about Barty. He’s just gone through something horrible. He doesn’t particularly want to be reminded of it either. And for him, when he’s panicking, it’s physical touch that that reminds him of what happened,” 

“Why the hell would touch remind him of being tied up in a cave or whatever?” Port asked, “Hugs are comforting,” 

“Not always. And it’s not my place to tell you what happened. Just know that it was a lot worse than being stuck in a cave,” 

“Well if he would just tell me then maybe I would understand better!” Port yelled. 

Ozpin sighed. “You didn’t tell anyone for days that your parents had died,” 

“That’s different” 

“How so?” 

“I didn’t have anyone I was close enough with to tell!” Port exclaimed, “And besides, Barty has had more than a few days!” 

“So even though you don’t feel close enough to him to tell him about your emotional struggles, you expect him to confide in you?” 

“But my parents died years ago! We hadn’t known each other for as long then! He should trust me!” 

“And he did,” Ozpin said quietly, “he let you into his room when he was upset and trusted you to listen to what he said. He trusted you not to touch him; and you broke that trust,” 

“But he… I… Oh,” something suddenly clicked in Port’s brain. “Shit,” 

Ozpin raised an eyebrow at the curse. “Furthermore, the fact that you touched him then caused him to have a flashback. His first full-on flashback I believe,” 

Port’s eyes widened. “Flashback- as in a PTSD style flashback?” 

Ozpin nodded gravely. 

“I really messed up… didn’t I?” Port muttered. 

“And what are you going to do about it?” 

“I need to apologise!” Port exclaimed, turning away, “thanks for the talk, old chap,” 

...

“Barty,” Port knocked on Barty’s living quarters’ door. 

There was no reply. 

“I know you’re in there, I already checked your office,” Port continued. “because I’ve realised… what I said was insensitive. I… I apologise,”

There was still no reply. 

“I know you’re mad at me- and I’m really really sorry I hugged you after you asked me not to- I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. I- I really care about you and I just want you to be alright. And you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t want to lose that.” Port sighed. “I talked to Ozpin earlier… He said that I caused you to have a flashback? I’m really sorry. I never meant for that to happen. I hope you can forgive me,” 

Port leant his head on the door. 

Suddenly the door handle turned. The door opened a crack, and Barty peered out. 

“Do you really mean that?” Barty whispered. 

“Of course,” 

“Then I forgive you.” Barty fully opened the door. They stared at one another for a few moments. Barty looked tired… his eyes were slightly red-rimmed, suggesting that he had been crying again, and he looked messier than normal. But… At least he was there. From what Ozpin had said, Port realised that they were lucky that Barty was alive. 

Suddenly Barty hugged him. 

“Thank you,” Barty whispered, “and for the record, I’m sorry for being such a terrible friend. I just couldn’t deal…” 

“That’s quite alright” Port replied, awkwardly patting him on the back. 

…

 

Ugh. Staff meetings were so incredibly boring, Bartholomew decided. Mostly people just talked about how far along they were in their courses and complained about the poorly-written curriculum. Of course, since they were hunters, they also got the usual debrief about recent Grimm activity, any villages that had been burnt down, and all that  _ happy _ stuff. 

Today a fairly young hunter, Trevor, just out of Shade academy, was giving a report on the trade routes. 

“It’s here that there’s a real problem,” Trevor announced, grabbing a knife from his belt and using it to point at the map. “There aren’t any natural defences so pretty much every ship passing through the area gets attacked. The fact that certain tribes of bandits occasionally try and loot the ships here only multiplied the problem,” 

Bartholomew's eyes tracked the knife. He gulped. It was fine. Just a rather large hunting knife. It was nowhere near him. 

A door slammed somewhere in the building. Everyone in the room erupted into discussions of the trade routes.

“Well, there really isn’t much we can do about that,” 

“What if we sent some people to discuss matters with the bandits? Make them sign a peace treaty?” 

“Or we could just alter the trade route- make them go around the mountains,” 

“But that would be much longer,” 

Bartholomew knew that he was zoning out. There was so much noise. Since when had he been this sensitive to noise? 

Trevor tossed the knife and caught it by the handle several times. Bartholomew couldn’t stop his hands from shaking slightly… He could just imagine that knife in the hands of Tyrian… 

It was too much. He had to get out of there. As discreetly as possible, he got up and left the room. 

Thank goodness the hallway was so much quieter. 

Bartholomew half walked, half ran dan the corridor and around a corner until he found the bathrooms. Then he went and locked himself in a cubicle and sank to the floor. 

Tears formed in his eyes, and he found it hard to breathe. Why was it hard to breathe? 

An image of Tyrian laughing and twirling the knife in his hand crossed Bartholomew’s mind.

For goodness sake! He just wanted to function normally! Why couldn’t he function normally? Panicking at the site of a knife… some huntsman he was. Ozpin was probably right about seeing a therapist. It might be a good idea. Especially if his brain decided to continue on like this. 

He tried to take a few deep breaths. What was it that Ozpin used to say? Breath in for four, and out for seven. In for four and out for seven. 

Once he was breathing normally again, he hid his head in his knees. Ugh, this was so useless! He was back to having panic attacks in bathrooms! This really wasn’t what he needed in his life right now, on top of everything else. Why couldn’t he just forget about what happened and move on? 

Twenty minutes later he decided to just go back to his room and sent a quick text to Ozpin, explaining that he would not be going back to the meeting.

He collapsed onto his bed. Panic attacks were so exhausting. He hated them. So so much. 

 

… 

 

Yes, going to see a counsellor had been a good idea, Bartholomew mused, as he walked back to Beacon through the streets of Vale. They had been very kind and helpful, even though talking to them was… exhausting to say the least. They hadn’t even talked about that much difficult stuff; most of it was just an assessment. He’d find out that exact results next few weeks; although his counsellor said that from his answers, he almost definitely had PTSD. They just had to run a few forms through the VMHA (Vale’s mental health association), and wait for enough time to pass to categorise it as a “true” disorder. 

Bartholomew wasn’t sure how he felt about it… Having a mental illness was… annoying. He had had clinical depression as a teenager, so it wasn’t like this was his first experience with this kind of thing… But making it “official” was always so intimidating. Although it would allow him to get the help he needed, he didn’t  _ want _ to  _ officially _ have PTSD. He didn’t  _ want  _ to have it at all. 

As he was lost in thought, he heard some screams nearby. Oh. Someone was calling for help. 

He grabbed his scroll to summon his thermos, only he realised that there was no signal. Darting to where the noise was coming from, he peered around a corner into a dark alleyway. 

Oh no! There was a group of about five large men, surrounding Miss Ruby Rose! 

One of the men was trying to pin Ruby to a wall, only Ruby was slamming her fists against him wildly. 

“Let me go! Let me go! Some help!” 

Bartholomew saw red. How dare these men attack one of his students? He may not have his thermos, but he wasn’t bad at hand to hand. 

He slammed into the first man with all his might, and ducked as the second one realised what was happening and tried to punch him. Then Bartholomew retaliated, headbutting the man in the jaw. 

Two down, three to go. 

Two of the remaining men ran at Bartholomew, but he darted to the right at the last second. Then he grabbed one of the men by the collar, and slammed his head against the wall. 

“All of you leave, now,” he said menacingly. 

The man holding Ruby dropped her and ran for it. The others followed only seconds later. 

Ruby collapsed on the floor crying. 

“Ruby, are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Bartholomew asked gently, crouching down beside her. 

Ruby shook her head. “No-no, they didn’t hurt me,” 

“Can you walk?” Bartholomew asked, “we need to get out of this back alley. If we go to the main road then we can get a taxi back to Beacon,” 

…

“Do you want some hot chocolate?” Bartholomew offered. They were sitting in his office, back at Beacon. Ruby hadn’t wanted to return to her team-mates yet because she didn’t want them to see her crying. 

Ruby nodded, and Bartholomew darted over to the kettle, boiled some water, and darted back to his desk to make up some hot chocolate. “It’s actually Ozpin’s hot chocolate,” he told Ruby, “Only we all borrow it all of the time because it tastes so nice,” 

Ruby giggled slightly at that. Then she took a sip of the hot chocolate, and took a deep breath. “It was just one guy at first,” she mumbled, “I was on the main-street and he told me that his puppy was sick and he didn’t know what to do. Then when we went to the back alley, the others jumped out, and I tried to call Crescent Rose, or Yang, only there wasn’t any signal,” 

“Tomorrow we could go to the police,” Bartholomew offered, “And you can press charges against them,” 

Ruby nodded. “Okay,” she thought for a moment. “Thank you for saving me, if you hadn’t turned up… they didn’t ask for any money… I don’t think they were going to rob me exactly…” she burst into tears again. 

“It’s quite alright,” Bartholomew replied, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, “Their behaviour was unacceptable. Hopefully the police will catch them and they will go to prison,” he paused to also take a sip of his hot chocolate, “Is it okay if I tell professor Ozpin what happened?” 

Ruby looked down. “I’m a team leader- I don’t want him to think that I’m weak-” 

“Miss Rose, trust me when I say that Ozpin is the kindest most understanding person that you will ever meet,” Bartholomew replied. 

Ruby nodded. “okay then,”

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Why would they… why would they try and do that to me?” Ruby asked quietly. 

“I’m afraid some people in this world are unnecessarily cruel,” Bartholomew replied, subconsciously touching his facial scar, “But that is why as hunters it is our job to stop them wreaking havoc. We have the power to protect those who cannot protect themselves. That is the responsibility of a hunter,” 

“But what about when we fall?” asked Ruby. 

“Then it is up to our friends to protect us,” Bartholomew replied, smiling softly. 

…

 

Bartholomew and Ozpin were sitting together on Bartholomew’s bed, watching a musical adaptation of the King of Vale’s life. 

“Completely historically inaccurate,” Bartholomew mumbled as the King sang a love duet with a servant. 

Ozpin hummed in agreement. “Everyone was so convinced I must have a love interest on the side since I always turned down every lady or man who wanted to court me,” 

“but you didn’t?” Bartholomew asked.

Ozpin shook his head. “No, honestly, I found the idea of taking a King or Queen quite terrifying,” 

Bartholomew gave Ozpin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She can’t hurt you now,” 

Ozpin smiled. “I know,” 

Bartholomew knew that at some point in his long life, Ozpin had ended up in an abusive relationship with someone. He didn’t know the details, but it had obviously been very bad. In the past Ozpin had even hinted that whoever it was had raped him. It made Bartholomew sick to the stomach, and he hoped that whoever had hurt his friend was long dead. 

The movie ended with the kings of the other kingdoms bowing to the king of Vale. 

“Well, that was fun, if incredibly inaccurate,” Bartholomew mumbled. 

“I certainly don’t remember as much singing,” Ozpin said, a twinkle in his eye. 

Bartholomew took the scroll and placed it on his bedside table before relaxing against Ozpin. “Thanks for sticking with me,” he mumbled, “through everything,” 

“Of course I would,” Ozpin replied, running a hand through his hair, “always, my friend,” 


End file.
